still heart, steady hands
by RPGgirl514
Summary: Kate's shooting brings up bad memories for Dr. Josh Davidson. Character study, episode tag 03x24, "Knockout."


"You pushed her to look into her mother's murder! She was shot because of you, and _Montgomery_ is dead because of you!"

It took everything Josh had to ball his hands at his sides when he would have much rather put his fist through a wall, or Castle's teeth.

He stalked away. The corridors of the hospital seemed to shrink and his chest felt tight. He couldn't get enough air. He fell heavily into a hard plastic chair in the physicians' lounge and put his head in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees. His throat burned.

He wasn't mad at Castle, not really. But that kicked puppy-dog look had set off something inside of him that he hadn't felt in twenty years, in another hospital 1500 miles west of here.

A styrofoam cup of coffee appeared at his elbow. "Dr. Davidson."

It was a nurse, one he worked with in the OR occasionally. She was new to the hospital. He couldn't remember her name. _Chandler, maybe. _No—that was part of a different memory.

"Thanks," he said, taking the cup.

"You okay?"

He sipped the coffee and waited as long as he could before answering. "I'll be fine. I just need a minute."

"You did everything you could."

Josh clenched his free hand under the table and slowly released it. She didn't know about his brother; she couldn't know what those words really meant. An empty platitude offered up to a family that's been destroyed.

"Thank you," he said evenly.

After she left, he drained his cup and set it on the table.

His hands were shaking.

* * *

Josh Davidson was a country boy at heart. He loved New York, but some part of him would always be the kid from that small town in the Iron Range. During muggy Midwest summers, he and his older brothers used to ride out past the six-mile marker on their mountain bikes and shoot at beer cans and traffic signs with their .22s until dusk. J.D. was always the best shot out of the three of them, but Josh had the steadiest hands.

Minnesota winters could be bitterly cold, and only the hardiest souls would venture outside for any length of time. Josh and his brothers played pond hockey on one of the state's ten thousand lakes, and took an ice fishing trip with their father at least once a season. It didn't matter what they caught, just that they stayed up way past their bedtime talking and playing stupid games like Would You Rather, or Dare Dare (their version of Truth or Dare, which was far more fun and way more macho than girls at a slumber party).

On one of these trips, Josh tried coffee for the first time, piping hot from a green Stanley thermos. His oldest brother Jack was only sixteen, but he'd gotten his hands on a bottle of Jameson and sneaked it into the ice house with them. J.D., who was old enough to feel the weight of adulthood, but still young enough to do anything on a dare, tried hard not to cough and failed. Jack laughed and slapped him on the back. Josh, the youngest, idolized them both. He was still a kid, though, and they knew it. Neither would have pressured Josh into taking a drink, but they weren't going to stop him either. He chased the burn of whiskey with coffee and scalded the inside of his throat, but he didn't care. Jack and J.D. were impressed, and that was all that mattered.

Until their father found out and all three were grounded.

Two years later, when Josh was fourteen, they sat out on the fence posts of a beef farm along Whitetail Ridge Road, watching the cattle grazing as they breathed in the scent of lilac and listened to the buzz of mosquitos and power lines around them. It was May, and the three of them were soaking up the promise of summer.

Jack ran his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in stiff peaks. Jack thought it looked 'roguish' but J.D. thought it looked stupid, and told him so. Jack called J.D. something their mother would ground him for. Josh laughed at them both.

"You excited for prom on Saturday?" J.D. asked.

"I guess," Jack said, nonchalant, but J.D. whooped as the blush crept into Jack's face.

"You _dog,_" J.D. crowed. "You're taking Gracie-fucking-Mason! You're gonna get luck-y!" J.D. singsonged the last word.

"Shut up," Jack said, shoving J.D. so hard he fell off his fencepost, but they were both laughing.

"What about you?" Jack shot back. "You're going too, right?"

"So?"

"So, who are you going with?" Jack had been trying to get a name out of his brother for weeks.

"I told you, you don't know her," J.D. said, suddenly sober now that his own life was in the spotlight.

"Bullshit!" Jack scoffed. "This town isn't big enough for me not to know her."

"Who said she's from this town?"

"Josh," Jack turned to his youngest brother, "you're not holding out on me for this dipwad, are you?"

"'Course he's not," J.D. said.

"I was talking to Josh, thank you very much."

His loyalties split, Josh looked between them.

"He's going with Jill," Josh blurted out. J.D. groaned and gave him a betrayed look.

Jack frowned. "Jill?"

Josh winced.

Jack's mouth dropped open as he finally connected the dots. "Our _cousin?!"_

"I'm not going to fuck her, you perv," J.D. snapped, crossing his arms. "It's just, she's a freshman and she really wanted to go, but she couldn't unless an upperclassman asked her. It's not like I have a girlfriend or anything. And I've still got two more years to go if I want."

"Fair enough. But if I have to defend her honor—"

"Oh, go fuck yourself," J.D. said. "Thanks for nothing, Josh."

Jack grinned and clapped Josh on the back. "I always knew you were a smart kid," Jack said. "Seriously, Josh, you could do anything you want. What do you think? When you grow up?"

Josh looked at the ground, drawing a line in the dirt with the toe of his boot. "I kinda wanna be an engineer. Like, design cars and stuff."

"You're definitely smart enough for that. Got the steady hands for all that delicate design work." Jack let out a bark of laughter. "Someday I might be driving around in something my little brother made! Wouldn't that be rad, J.D.?"

J.D. gave him the finger.

"C'mon, don't be a little bitch."

Jack got a strange little smile on his face and looked at J.D. "I can't believe you're going to prom with Jill."

"Fuck _off!_ God, you're a dick!"

* * *

That November brought deer opener—practically a holiday in itself in northern Minnesota. No one in town batted an eye when Davidson Collision closed up shop. But the day before their long weekend, a single phone call changed their plans. Maureen's great-aunt had passed away, and the funeral was that Saturday.

"We can't just send the boys out hunting alone."

"Relax, Maureen, they'll be fine," Tom Davidson said. "They're old enough to take care of themselves."

And so it was decided: the Davidson brothers packed up the truck and headed to their family's cabin, even further north than home, while Tom and Maureen took the car to International Falls.

Josh had grown up in this family tradition and looked forward to it each year, almost more than he looked forward to Christmas: skewering brats on whittled branches over a campfire until they popped and sizzled, making up ghost stories with his brothers, browsing for treasures at the small family hardware store in the nearest town, forty-five minutes away. As he got older, he got his very own deer stand and rifle, but his father insisted he tag along with J.D.—_as if he needed a babysitter_—until he was sixteen. Josh didn't mind; J.D. was cool and didn't make him feel like a baby.

The three brothers rose before the sun and dressed in the dark, pulling on longjohns and thermal turtlenecks under their camo sweatshirts and Carhartt cargo pants. Jack favored his blaze orange knit beanie, while J.D. and Josh had gotten matching orange vests, stuffed with goose down, on their last trip to the Twin Cities to visit their great-aunt Lucie.

They rode out together in the maroon truck. When it was just the three of them, Jack always drove.

* * *

They had set up their stands the day before, deep in the woods. They hiked through the trees in the wan light of dawn, rifles slung over their arms, following the trails of hunters before them.

"Hey, I forgot something in the truck," Jack said, cuffing J.D.'s shoulder lightly. "Keep going; I'll catch up."

J.D. nodded once, shifting his rifle in the crook of his elbow. J.D. and Josh continued on the narrow trail, the crisp rustle of dead leaves underfoot and the steam of their breath rising in the autumn chill. All they could hear were each other's steps and chickadee calls.

A branch snapped behind them. Josh and J.D. turned. J.D. put a finger to his lips and pointed. Josh saw movement; a fluid sable figure slipped through the trees a dozen yards away. Josh grinned and made a _hurry up_ motion with his hands. J.D. raised his rifle and fired. The blast ripped through the trees and the shape dropped with a cry. A _human_ cry.

Josh froze.

"Oh, my God," whispered J.D. It was a moment before he could get his feet to move, then he was off like a shot with Josh at his heels.

"Jack!"

J.D. skidded to a stop on his knees, scattering loam and fallen leaves in his wake. He pressed his hands over the hole in Jack's chest as if he could make the wound disappear by covering it. Blood welled over his fingers.

"Josh, get the truck! Get the fucking truck!"

Josh took off running. He'd never run so fast in his life. He clambered into the driver's seat. The keys were already in the ignition. He mashed down the clutch. The truck stalled twice before he could get it into gear. _Jack always drove. _Tears blurred his vision until the gravel road, the trees, the sky were indistinguishable from each other. The truck shuddered to a halt. J.D. and Jack were still on the ground about 25 feet away. J.D. struggled to get one of Jack's arms around his shoulder, chest heaving with exertion, tears streaming down his face.

"Josh, help me! Help me!"

Josh rushed to Jack's other side, and between the two of them they managed to half-drag, half-carry Jack to the truck. They hoisted him into the bed and Josh pulled himself up beside him.

"Keep pressure on it," J.D. called over his shoulder as he threw the truck into gear and screamed out into the road, back tires spitting gravel out behind them.

Josh could hear Jack's ragged breathing; there were bubbles in the blood. Josh watched them, transfixed. Jack's eyes were open, though glazed, focused on a point over Josh's shoulder. He wondered what Jack was looking at, but couldn't tear his eyes away from his brother long enough to see. _He's still alive._ Josh clung to that tiny flicker of hope with everything he had.

He put both hands over the hole in Jack's chest. "Hold on, Jack, you're gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

Josh looked up at J.D. in the cab, trying to gauge how far from town they were. He could see J.D.'s eyes in the rearview, panicked and wild. The steering wheel was smeared with blood. _Jack's blood._

"Don't die, Jack; please," Josh pleaded. He knew he sounded like a scared little kid, but he didn't care. As long as Jack lived, he didn't care.

* * *

Josh's parents met them at the hospital, hours later. Josh told them what happened in a burst of words, barely making sense, while J.D. sat in silence behind him. Both boys were still spattered with dirt and their brother's blood. Maureen Davidson was hysterical at the sight of them, sobbing as she clung to them both. Tom Davidson said only, "I'm glad you two are okay."

The family turned as one unit as the surgeon emerged from the door to their right. His face was grim.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said. _Dr. Chandler_, his name badge read. "We did everything we could."

"What do you mean, you did everything you could?" Josh demanded, stepping forward. "Jack can't be . . ." he couldn't even say the word, but it echoed in his mind, over and over and over—_dead, dead, dead_. "He _can't! _He's going to teach me to ride . . . He promised!"

"Josh." He felt his father's hand on his arm and shook it off. His body trembled like a taut guitar string ready to snap. Josh turned away from the doctor, catching sight of J.D. His face was pale as a ghost. Anger thrummed under Josh's skin.

"This is your fault," he said, jabbing his finger at J.D. "My brother is dead because of you!" _Jack is J.D.'s brother too._

J.D. stared at Josh. He didn't say anything—_couldn't_ say anything. His silence only incensed Josh further. J.D., with the sarcastic sense of humor and strong opinions, who always had to say something, even when he had nothing to say, had somehow run out of words.

"It should have been _you_ instead of Jack!"

"Joshua! Jerome!" their mother cried.

If it was possible, J.D.'s expression crumpled even further. Josh's chest tightened. He wanted to punch J.D. until he stopped looking at him like that, but suddenly he just felt exhausted. His rage had seeped away, leaving him empty and numb. The walls were closing in. He stalked away, eyes stinging.

"Let him go, Maureen," Tom said.

"I can bring you back to him, if you'd like to say good-bye," Dr. Chandler said quietly. The remaining Davidsons nodded. "Follow me."

Josh burst through a stairwell door and all the fight went out of him. Breathing heavily, he slid down the sturdy concrete wall of the landing, cold against his cheek. His hands were shaking. Jack always said Josh had the steadiest hands. He stuffed them in his armpits, shoulders hunched against his grief, and scrunched his eyes shut. The tears burned his cheeks like acid.

* * *

Seeing Kate lying there, bleeding out just like Jack had two decades ago, had hit him harder than he'd thought. This time had felt like a second chance—a chance to save someone he loved. Josh had become a surgeon because of Jack. This was what he had trained for. But it wasn't enough. Not for Jack, not for Kate.

Being with Kate was easy: they talked about work, movies, books, motorcycles. Safe things. Easy things. They both loved the Nepalese take-out joint near Josh's apartment, and when they spent the night together, it was always at his place. They made the excuse that it was closer to work for both of them (which was true), even when they both knew it was because Kate wanted her apartment to stay _hers_. A place to retreat when things that mattered, things that _hurt_, got too close. He knew there was a part of her she kept shuttered away from him, from everybody. That was alright—he had secrets too. He'd never told her about Jack.

It was a rare and terrible thing, to feel a life ebb out under one's fingers. Josh had felt it a handful of times as a surgeon, and each time put him back there in the bed of that rusted old truck, his heart in his throat as Jack's went still.

He got up from the table, leaving the empty cup behind.

She was awake when he came by after his rounds, hazel eyes dulled by dilaudid and game show reruns.

"Kate," he said.

"Hey, Josh." Her eyes brightened as she looked at him.

His brother's name was on the tip of his tongue. Josh swallowed it and smiled at her instead. "Nothing. You should get some rest. Doctor's orders."

As soon as he turned away he knew it was over. The moment had passed. Jack was as much a part of him as being a surgeon, as much as his childhood in Minnesota, as much as his still heart and steady hands. And no matter how much time he spent with her, no matter how much he wished she were, Kate wasn't.

* * *

Kate was discharged a week later with pain pills and physical therapy appointments scheduled for a month out. She didn't call, and Josh made sure he was on rounds when her father came to pick her up. That night Josh poured two fingers of bourbon that he didn't drink. He held the glass loosely between his fingers, propped on his left knee. The face of his cell phone glowed in his right hand. He hadn't had the balls to call J.D. yet, though he'd gotten the number from their mother days ago.

He hadn't spoken to J.D. in years, not since his brother came back from the Gulf with desert ghosts in his eyes that he tried to drown at the bottom of a bottle. There'd been two painfully uncomfortable Christmases in Minnesota since, but Josh usually had to work—he'd made sure of it. Last he'd heard, the elder _(eldest)_ Davidson brother lived in a mobile home park in New Jersey, splitting the rent with an old army buddy, still pickling his liver. When he wasn't drunk, he was fixing cars for an auto body shop—part of some national chain.

He steeled his courage and dialed the number before he could change his mind.

"_Hey, you've reached Jerome Davidson. Leave your name and number and if I like you I might call you back. No promises."_

Josh hung up without leaving a message. Since when did his brother go by Jerome? A lot could have changed in fifteen years—too much, maybe. This whole idea was stupid. He balled up the slip of paper with J.D.'s number and tossed it at the trash can. Missed.

Josh's cell phone rang. J.D.'s number filled the screen.

His hands were shaking. "Hello?"

"Hey, this is Jerome Davidson. Look, if you were calling about the Harley, I already got an offer on it earlier today, I just haven't taken the ad down off Craigslist yet. Sorry to waste your time."

He was about to hang up. Josh panicked. "J.D., wait."

The man on the other end sucked in a breath. "What did you call me? Who the hell is this?"

"It's Josh. Your brother," he added unnecessarily.

"How'd you get this number?"

Josh's stomach dropped. "Mom gave it to me. J.D.—"

"It's Jerome now."

Josh couldn't bring himself to say the unfamiliar name, no matter how much of a stranger his brother was now. "Look, can we meet up and talk? Mom told me you're still in Hoboken."

J.D. was quiet for so long Josh pulled the phone away from his ear to check if he'd hung up.

"When did you want to meet?"

J.D. chose a diner near his place and they set up a late lunch for the day after next. After they hung up, Josh drank the bourbon in one gulp and poured another. He wasn't planning on sleeping much.

* * *

Josh stood jerkily when the bell jingled over the door, bumping the side of the table and causing his coffee to slop over the side of his ceramic mug.

His stomach swooped. He didn't know how to greet his brother: should he reach for a handshake? For a hug?

J.D.'s hands were stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. Feeling foolish, Josh sat back down as J.D. took the seat across the booth. For as much as Josh wanted to talk, now that they were actually here, he didn't know what to say. Luckily, the waitress gave him some time to think about it as she filled their coffees and took their orders. Josh ordered a Volcano Burger, which promised "a violent eruption of cheddar stuffed inside an all-beef patty."

J.D. spoke first. "If you're hoping for a Juicy Lucy, you'll be disappointed. They're not the same out east."

"Oh," Josh said, wondering if he should have ordered something else.

"It's still a decent burger though." J.D. shrugged. "That your bike out there?"

Josh glanced out the window and saw another motorcycle sharing his parking space. "Yeah."

"You get much time to ride these days?"

"Not enough," Josh said truthfully. "My girlfriend—ex-girlfriend," he amended, "and I, we used to ride Long Island when we got some time off together." He didn't want to talk about Kate, not really, and wished he hadn't brought her up.

J.D. took a sip of his coffee. He didn't ask about Kate. "So why'd you call me, Josh?"

_This is it._ But as always he was too much of a coward to talk about Jack.

"It's been awhile," he said instead.

J.D. looked annoyed. "Yeah, well. You've been busy."

Josh winced. He deserved that. "I know. I'm sorry. For that, and—for other things."

"Yeah? What kind of things?"

J.D. wasn't going to make this easy on him.

"After . . . what happened to Jack, I said some things. To you," Josh said haltingly.

J.D.'s hands had gone still, his expression willed into casual nonchalance. He looked decades older than Josh remembered, but he could still see his brother under the careful facade.

"I remember."

"I'm sorry," Josh repeated. "For what I said then. I didn't mean it."

"Coulda said that on the phone."

"Shit, J.D.; what do you want me to say?" Josh said. A few other patrons glanced their way. J.D. shifted in his seat as Josh continued. "That I had nightmares for years about the _second_ you pulled the trigger? As if I could have stopped it? How I felt Jack bleed out in that truck? That I relive that moment _every fucking time_ a gunshot victim comes across my table?"

"_I_ pulled the trigger!" J.D. burst out. "_I _killed our brother! Do you understand how much guilt I felt? For so long—and then you—" J.D. stopped, voice raw. "When you just _said_ it, right there in the hospital, I couldn't deal. I hated you for saying it."

"I hated you for killing him. I hated you for a long time."

"I hated me too," J.D. whispered. "Some days I still do."

"Is that why you left?"

J.D. shrugged. "No. Yeah, shit, I don't know. I guess I figured if I was already a killer, I might as well get paid for it." He let out a shuddering breath. "It's been years, Josh. Why are you bringing this up now?"

Josh opened his mouth, but at that moment their lunches arrived. The waitress slid the check under Josh's plate.

"Something happened," J.D. said, studying Josh. "It's written all over your damn face."

"My ex, she's a cop," Josh said. "A detective. She pissed off the wrong people and got shot." He touched his chest, by his heart. "She was brought in on my shift. There was no one else. She died on the table. I touched her heart."

"And you think that means something?"

"Doesn't it?"

J.D. rubbed a hand over his face. "Shit, I don't know anymore. Maybe, if you want it to. I don't know."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. "You were right," Josh said, gesturing to his burger. "It's no Juicy Lucy."

J.D. smirked, and for the first time, Josh saw a shadow of the teenager his brother had been before the accident.

"I'm sorry," Josh said finally. "For what I said to you. That day."

"Me too," J.D. said roughly. "For taking your brother away."

"He was your brother too."

"Yeah. He was." They finished their meals in silence, but the tension had seeped out of it. Josh paid. It was the least he could do.

The emerged from the dim diner, blinking in the sunlight. Josh slipped on his sunglasses.

J.D. lit a cigarette.

"Those things will kill you," Josh said.

"No shit, doc," J.D. said.

Josh grinned slowly, and J.D. started to chuckle. "It was good to see you, Josh."

"It's been too long," Josh said. He paused. "Mom's worried about you. Said you're still drinking."

J.D. took a small coin out of his wallet. "Sober, nine months."

Josh clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, J.D."

"Shit, I'm the one who should be proud," J.D. said. "My brother, the hot-shot Manhattan doctor."

Josh mounted his motorcycle, and J.D. did the same. "Let's ride, brother."

They peeled out of the parking lot side by side. It wasn't quite happily ever into the sunset. But it was more than Josh had had in twenty years, and that was a beginning.


End file.
